


Must be Something More

by commanderswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, CS AU, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5575192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commanderswan/pseuds/commanderswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven Captain Swan Christmas one-shots, each inspired by a Taylor Swift song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. come back, be here

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this is the fanfic I created for the CS Secret Santa on Tumblr, for the incredible Morgan (swannsavior). Hope you guys like it. :)

  1. ****come back, be here****



_“this is falling in love in the cruelest way”_

***

Emma’s fingers tap continuously on the handle of the half-empty cup of coffee in front of her, the other propping her chin up as she gazes outside the window onto Central Park below. One of the many upsides to the apartment was the view, thrust right above the skating rink that had opened earlier in the month. The tiny figures below hold hands and glide through the ice, the beginners awkward and flailing, but always picked up by a laughing or irritated helper and given another chance at braving the sport.

The falling snow is beautiful. This time of year always feels precious to her, for some strange, inarticulate reason. She can never put in words. Something about the masses of crowds at shopping malls, buying cocoa, bundling up in a parka, decorating the Christmas tree, and of course, skating, is important to her in a way no other time in the year could be. Spring is pretty, but too wet. Summer is relievingly free, but too cramped. Fall makes her smile, but _winter_ is the real deal.

At times, it reminds her of him. It’s not the coldness they both share; it’s the comfort and splendour they manage to harbour and express in the tiniest of actions. It lies in their unexpectedness, their ability to look beautiful even in the coldest of atmospheres, their tendency to captivate even the iciest of hearts with their loveliness. It lies in their ability to draw Emma away, never realizing what she’s missing until they’re long gone and she’s left in their wake. In winter’s case, it’s facing the ugly, sludgy aftermath of the falling snow as the first few rays of spring peek through the clouds. In Killian’s case, it’s looking at the seat across from her where they had spent so many afternoons together, and finding it empty.

When they’d first met, and the weeks after they had spent together, she kept reminding herself it was casual. Nothing serious, just a way to releasing the never-ending tension and stress that life kept hurling her into.

And at first it was just that. Her apartment one time, his the next. They’d finish, maybe have a cup of coffee, then they would part, going about the rest of the day, leaving the other in the secluded area of their life that wasn’t often ventured into.

That was maybe the first two weeks. She isn’t sure when, but gradually she began to notice things. Like his tendency to flash her an embarrassed smile whenever she compliments him, or the way his jaw twitches rapidly when he’s angry or irritated, or the way his eyes crinkle endearingly when he laughs. She likes making him laugh.

Slowly, gradually, the stays after had lengthened. Coffees turned into lunches and dinners. Inside jokes grew. Stories were shared. They even met outside a few times.

But Emma had never let herself go any further. The entire _point_ to this, she told herself, was to not taint the blissful ignorance they both possessed. Ruining it would shatter the whole thing, and she couldn’t handle that. Falling in love is too complicated, a road she’s forbidden herself from treading for many years.

But _he_ made her want to scream for even thinking about walking down the path again. Not even walking. She finds herself sometimes wanting to rush through it, maybe frolic through the leaves and kick some rocks and yell at the world for pushing her into this.

He had told her a while ago. His father back in England had had a stroke, and he was going back for an unknown amount of time. He was leaving the next day.

Of course Emma had complied, wishing him well, even seeing him before he left for the airport. A small moment had passed between them; tender, hopeful and tiny, before he had kissed her forehead, surprising her, and walked out of her apartment.

It’s been a week, and she can already feel the regret and anger settling in. Her walls have broken down and no amount of desperation is going to rebuild them again.

It’s strange, going down this route again. It’s wild and dreamy and desperate and Emma can’t bring herself to pull away. She doesn’t want to need him this way. She _can’t_ need him this way. But already she can feel the pull of the abyss getting stronger the longer the clock ticks and her hold on her sanity weakening the longer her thoughts linger on him.

She can admit now; what she _needs_ is him, to feel his hands covering hers, to take her in his arms and tell her she isn’t alone in this or crazy or strange for feeling this way.

But he isn’t there.

The snow falls outside as Emma takes a sip of her coffee. It’s beautiful. Just like the person who used to sit by her on afternoons like this so long ago.


	2. stay stay stay

_“but you carry my groceries and now i’m always laughing”_

Emma is cold, tired, and hungry.

The snow outside falls relentlessly as she pays for her items at the store counter, thanking the cashier quickly as she buries herself in the neck of her jacket, grabs her bags and braces herself for the frigid air. The store is crowded with panicked last-minute Christmas shoppers, more than a few people have slipped due to the amount of sludge on the floor, and yells drown out the carols that play from speakers above. Emma nearly hits herself for allowing her fridge to become this empty at this time of the month. But frankly, without Henry around to fuss over, it’s kind of hard to focus on herself and any home necessities.

She pushes her way through the crowd, not bothering to say sorry to anyone, as the speakers above wishes her a merry, merry Christmas. The cold wind blows into her face mercilessly as she steps outside, headlights and car horns decorating the nightly atmosphere, the purple sky a menacing curtain that showered endless snowflakes.

She looked through the haze for her car, the yellow Bug being easy to spot in a parking lot full of browns, blacks and blues. A car passes by her, horn blaring, as she jumps aside to avoid the splash of melted snow. “Sorry!” she yells, even though it’s useless. Her fifteen-dollar Walmart boots are already soaked through from all the travelling she’s done today, her fingers are frozen stiff inside her gloves, and her nose could give Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer a run for his money. She grits her teeth and resists the urge to throw everything down and scream. She hates crowds. She hates snow. She hates this stupid holiday that married the two.

She finally sighs and continues the hunt for her car. Squeezing her way through two Toyotas, she stumbles and drops her bags, hearing a sickening _crack_ and watching in horror as a yellow substance begins to leak into the snow.

“Oh my _God_ ,” she yells, “ _Fuc_ -”

“Need a hand, love?”

Her head whips up, her eyes squinting in the falling snow. She makes out a hazy figure in a long black coat, hat and hands shoved into their pockets. “What th- _Killian_?”

Her stupidly handsome boyfriend crouches down and picks up her bags as she scrambles to a standing position. “I thought you were in London?”

He shrugs. “I heard Henry was gone, and I didn’t want you to be alone. Now come! Warmth awaits.”

She lets out a hesitant laugh and follows him, not being able to keep a smile off her face despite the day she’d just had. His figure travels unabashedly through the snow before coming to a stop in front of her car. He waves her to go inside, and she does gratefully, cursing and still breathing out puffs of steam as she shivers, shakily turning the car on. Killian gets in the passenger seat a minute later, taking off his hat and giving her a side grin. “So? Where’s my hello?”

Emma laughs and leans forward to kiss him, thinking that the snow probably blocks anyone’s vision inside the car, anyway. “Hello, Killian,” she says teasingly, pulling back. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Well, you didn’t answer your door, and I figured you were, as you are every year, here buying your groceries at 9 pm, because, as every year, you’ve forgotten to stock your fridge again.”

She laughs. “I didn’t realize it was a yearly ritual.”

“It’s funnier when you don’t notice.” He leans forward and pecks her nose. “You can use

my eggs, don’t worry.”

Emma smacks his head and starts up the car. This disastrous day didn’t seem too bad after all.


	3. safe and sound

_“you’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now”_

***

Emma doesn’t scream when she wakes up anymore.

The first couple of nights were terrible. She’d awaken, thrashing and yelling bloody murder as the never-ending horror played in her head like a film stuck on repeat. Her head would pound and she’d hold it and scream, all her sanity in this dark and desolate world gone.

Those days were the worst. He would come running in, and she knew it pained him for not being able to do anything at first due to her tendency to lash out and hurt anything within an arm’s reach during an episode. He’d crouch before her as she curled up on the ground, screams fading to sobs of anguish as she held her head in her arms, and then he’d pick her up and hold her close, stroking her hair as she buried her face in his shoulder.

She hates having to put him through this. She hates that they can never go back to the carefree, wonderful life they once had. This nightmare that seemed to exist in both her dreams and reality was like net of hopelessness and insanity, a net that covered and dragged her down into its deep, dark world of isolation, one even he couldn’t help her escape from.

It’s slightly better now. She doesn’t scream, and he sleeps in her bed on the nights where she feels okay enough to take her sleeping pills, but she still gives a start when she awakes. But he’s there. He’s always there, calming her down, getting some water, kissing her hair, rubbing her back. He’s tireless and comforting and beautiful and she loves him so, so much.

She holds onto that feeling on the bleaker days. Reaching out for his hand that never seems to leave her side. Leaning her head against his shoulder, lacing their fingers together, wrapping her arms around him more times than she’ll admit. It helps, to feel his heartbeat against her cheek and recognize that there was warmth left in her life. There are ways where she doesn’t speak when she reaches out and curls herself into him, and he doesn’t need an explanation as he returns the embrace. They are two imperfect beings, and Emma is grateful that after all this time, they still manage to fit together like two puzzle pieces in a peculiar, lovely way.

The dream she has right now isn’t terrible. She’s lying-no, sitting in a field filled with pink flowers, and he’s there in her arms. The sun is bright and she caresses the side of his face, and he attempts to smile back and everything is peaceful and beautiful-

But something is wrong. The vision comes into focus and she makes out a cut on his neck, bleeding profusely, and he’s gasping for breath, begging her to let him go but she won’t, she won’t lose him again, and she continues to make that vow as the tears fall down her cheeks and she screams that him wishing her a good future is _not_ enough for her and it will never be-

She jolts awake, eyes snapping open and mouth opening as she lets out a sharp breath, hands gripping the soft blanket at her sides. She screws her eyes shut and tries to breathe in deeply like Archie had suggested, focusing her thoughts on the fact that it wasn’t real, that it had _never happened_.

But it had. And that’s what frustrates Emma so much - she can deal with fabricated nightmares and things she can easily convince herself never occurred, but ones that are mere retellings of her painful past are nothing short of torture.

She gulps and lets out a long breath through pursed lips, opening her eyes to the glowing stars that dance across the ceiling of their room. They’re actually reflections of some wind chimes that her mother had created, able to give off a soft, green glow that comfort Emma when she awakens after nightmares like these. Looking at the light gives her hope, and she sighs, the horror slowly fading away.

Killian isn’t there beside her. Emma frowns, remembering him climbing into bed at her request a few hours ago (the clock says 4:30), until she notices a light from downstairs through their bedroom door. She sits up, makes a split-second decision, and gets off the bed, wrapping the blanket around her as she leaves.

The living room is filled with candlelight. His back faces her, hand reaching over to place a candle over the nub of another candlestick. There are copies on the shelf, table, counter. Holly and mistletoe berries hang from doorways, wreaths with different faces of her relatives attached decorate door knobs and hooks on the wall, streamers of red, gold and white are spread around the room. 

The things her boyfriend does.

He backs away, turns around and starts at the sight of her. She offers him a smile. “I didn’t realize it was a nightly ritual for Killian Jones to turn his house into a fire hazard.”

He smiled sheepishly, which quickly turned into a look concern. “I was about to wake you.” He strides toward her, pulling her body into his arms. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Emma nods into his neck. “We were in Camelot, and…” She pulls away, looking up at his beautiful blue eyes, and can’t bring herself to say more.

He shakes his head, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “It’s alright, love. You’re safe now. _We’re_ safe now.”

Emma smiles again, leaning forward to brush a kiss against his lips. How simple their lives had spiraled down to become in the past year. Their broken, bruised and painful life had decided to give them some breathing room, enough time to cautiously settle into their new home and start a hesitant life together.

But Emma doesn’t want to think about that right now. Right now, all that exists is him, their home, her, and this night. And the candles that illuminate the room around them, jauntily dancing around like fairies she’d witnessed in her birthplace so long ago.

“Is this my Christmas present?” She asks teasingly, referring to the candles.

“It’s _part_ of your Christmas present,” he corrects, smiling again. “I thought maybe, since you didn’t take your pills tonight, you could use a distraction, something nice to look at. And of course, if our house did catch on fire, there’s always your parents to retreat to.”

She laughs. “Well, I love it.” Her gaze softens. “And I love you.”

He smiles wider, pulling her face in for a proper, long kiss. “I love you too, Emma Swan,” he says seriously. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

She tucks her head into his neck as the candle light bounces around the room, and wishes that, whatever they face from now on will always lead them back to this peaceful moment that holds nothing but them and the heart they share.


	4. jump then fall

_“the bottom’s gonna drop out from under our feet”_

***

Emma isn’t quite going to get used to waking up this. (Or at least, this is the mantra she chants to herself every time she enters a new living space, past and present). Opening her eyes and seeing white walls with a framed photo of her and her family always exerts a sharp dart of surprise through her chest that eventually melds into wave of happiness and comfort. She smiles more often in the morning, opening her eyes and reaching out for the warm body that is lying next to her every time she wakes up.

She can smell the food cooking even before she’s fully awake, and hear the sound of laughter and holiday music carry itself into her bedroom. The curtains are wide open, allowing her a tasteful glance of the snow falling heavily outside. The boughs of holly they’d decorated the outside of the windows with had already been capped by the white stuff, but the fairy lights hung up by Regina twinkled as prettily as ever, magically being able to withstand the storm.

Emma gets dressed and walks downstairs to see Roland chasing around Ashley’s baby, both giggling and wearing streamers of red and gold. Her mother and Ruby pass by the front of the stairs, the former carrying a tray filled with cookies, before catching sight of her daughter. “Emma! You’re awake!”

Ruby gives her a grin and a hug, and Emma stares at the atmosphere around her with incredulity. “I-I wasn’t expecting you guys to be here today, I thought we were-”

“Killian invited us, yesterday,” Ruby explained, shrugging. “He wanted us to spend the Christmas all together, you know?” She gives a fond glance at Snow. “ I don’t think we’ve done it before.”

Snow nodded. “He thought you could use your family,” she added gently.

Emma’s still a little amazed as her father walks in with her boyfriend, both laughing about something unexplained. “I mean, it’s not like I _meant_ to,” Killian said, catching Emma’s eye and winking. “He just...made it very hard.”

“Well, I’m sure,” her father said, before wrapping Emma in a hug. Emma melts into it, and the wonderful smell of baked apple and cinnamon fills her nostrils. Killian smiles at her from behind her family. holding an orange mug with a painted hook (courtesy of her mother). The beautiful display he’d created last night is gone, but the holly and mistletoe is still there. She can see Robin trying to sneak a kiss with Regina, who tries to look scandalized but relents in the end. Leroy and Sleepy are arguing over something Emma can’t decipher, but both look teasing about it. Henry and Violet exchange shy glances over red paper cups. People coo over Neal.

The nightmare from last night seems to fade from her memory as she takes in the scenery. Her family. Her home. They were alright.

They were going to be okay. She knows it.


	5. treacherous

_“’til the gravity’s too much”_

***

The sun is setting and she knows she can’t keep her cover for long; Lily’s going be all over her for missing even a second of her party. She told Ruby to keep her distracted for as long as she could, just enough time for Emma to sneak out and row to the sitting rock just a little away from the shore.

He should be here by now.

Emma sighs and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking around for a ripple in the water that usually notified her of his appearance. It’s cold and she can already feel it settling like a cloud of dust on her nose, forehead, hands; anything that was exposed to the frigid air. The sunset turns the water red and orange on one side, leaving the other tucked into shadow, a sprinkling of stars already appearing on the other side of the horizon. It’s beautiful, an image out of a painting. The amount of times he had asked her to meet him during this time was absurd. She’d flat out asked him one day why he preferred this time of day above all others. He had smiled at her, kissed her cheek, and told her it reminded him of her.

Then he had flipped into the water and disappeared.

For a while Emma contemplated on that conversation. Analogies has never really been her forte. In which way is she, a mere girl with a wisp of an imaginative mind, supposed to compare to the loveliness embodied within the end of the day?

She asked him about it, three days later. They were in a dark part of the forest, where the leaves created a canopy that blocked out nearly all sunlight and the fairies flitted here and there, casting a colourful glow wherever they passed. He was in a loose-fitting white shirt and dark pants she’d managed to sneak out of her father’s closet and had looked so damn beautiful Emma wanted nothing more to kiss him for all eternity.

She’d been in a plainer outfit than usual. White, lace around her forearms, her hair down. His fingers were fiddling with something, a piece of rope with a sea shell threaded through it. The necklace with the sand dollar still hung from his neck, dangling in front of the shirt that had (gladly) a couple of buttons undone. They were sitting on a rock; his eyes kept flitting to the flower crown Emma had placed on her head, courtesy of the children down in the village she had just passed through. He’d just reached to brush a lock of hair from her shoulder when she had asked him, about the comparison he’d made a couple of days before.

He’d smiled, that wonderful smile Emma was dying to share with everyone around her. “God, love, you really do cut to the chase, don’t you?”

Emma blushed. “It’s not like I _brought_ you here to ask about that, I just…”

“Wanted to know?” He asked gently, receiving a hesitant nod in reply. He twirled another lock of her hair, looking thoughtful. “You know what I find beautiful? Other than you of course,” he suddenly asked, to Emma’s short laugh. He grinned before continuing. “How neverending the sky seems to be, and all the endless possibilities it possesses. How quickly it turns from gray and cloudy to a silvery blue, and how insignificant we are compared to it.” He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “But one thing I’ve noticed is that it’s not easy to find the sky sharing its colours and atmosphere with another kind. I can only come up to the surface for so long; it’s difficult to choose a time when I can actually witness the transformation from day to night, cloudy to clear, stormy to calm.” He shrugged, looking away. “So I guess that’s why I love that the most. It’s beautiful to see the sky sharing its stars with the setting of the sun. You can see both and admire as the day bows to night, as the stars take over sky, taking day’s place for the time being.”

Emma smiled. “But what does that have anything to do with me?”

He gave her a shy glance. “You’re just...layered, you know? You’re like the night sky and stars and the moon, but you’re as bright as day and - the sun and-” he groaned and stopped, dropping his head into his heads. “God, I can’t even explain - I-”

Emma laughed, lifted his face and kissed him, not needing an explanation. She pulled away and rested her forehead against his, trying to collect and implant everything about this wonderful, wonderful day and wonderful, wonderful him into her mind.

She pulled back and rested her forehead against his. “I understand, Killian. Thank you.”

She thinks about that, resting her chin in her hands as she gazes into the still ocean, the rush of waves against the sand the only sound in her ears. He had been distracted and stressed at their last meeting, and Emma’s dreading facing him now, fearing the worst-

 _Splash_.

Her head whips around, and there he is, her beautiful merman, smiling up at her as he pushed himself up onto the rock. Twisting his sand dollar around, he glows and a man with two legs is before her, his hair messy and his eyes devoid of the usual twinkle they adapt when they gaze at her.

Emma’s heart tightens. Something’s wrong.

He holds out a hand and she climbs beside him, being careful not to rip her dress. The silence is heavy and thick.

“My father-” Killian starts, then clears his throat. “My father’s travelling to the East Ocean. There’s a kingdom there that wants to make an alliance in case the whole Kraken thing blows up.”

“I thought you had that under control?” Emma asks, concerned. “That the Kraken were willing to negotiate a peace treaty?”

“Yes, but they asked for…” Killian sighs, closing his eyes. “They asked for my sisters in return for ultimate peace.”

Emma’s horrified. “Did-did you try and argue-?”

“Of course we did,” he says, and his the reserved, resigned feel to his voice does nothing to offer consolation to her. “They haven’t agreed it, but my father’s travelling to the east just in case. He can’t take any chances, not with his children’s lives on the line.”

“I understand,” Emma says. “Will...will you be going with him?”

He still can’t bring himself to look at her. “Yes.”

The blow hits her in the chest and she exhales, the blood rushing in her ears, corresponding with the sound of waves on the shore. She doesn’t know what she expected from this treacherous love. They rarely ever talked about telling either of their parents; Emma knows hers would be fine. They’ve been talking about improving the treaties with the mermaids for ages, and Emma suspects they’d be disappointed knowing their daughter was sneaking around behind their backs with one of the other kind, but they would understand. They always do.

Killian’s father is another subject, though. King Triton, lord of the West Ocean, was force to be reckoned with. He tolerated humans because of the plain reason that he didn’t want to engage in war, and regarded Emma’s kingdom with disgust, on those rare days when she would witness him coming up to the surface to discuss politics with her family.

That was how they first met. Emma remembers a tall boy with dark hair and blue eyes, with an air of confidence as he lifted his shoulders to match his father’s stride. She’d drawn her eyebrows in and shook her head with a glance to the side at Lily.

She’d looked back, caught his eye and consequently his wink.

He and his father came up to the surface quite a few times after that, and Emma would always be there, future queen of Misthaven, trying her best to not let her gaze linger on the sea king’s handsome son for too long. He’d sat next to her on a random day a few months ago, and Emma had steadily ignored his commentary on things he witnessed in the human world before Emma finally let out a snarky comeback about this being the first time she’d seen a tail on something she wasn’t going to eat.

He’d stared at her for a minute before bursting into laughter, drawing a hesitant smile across her lips, too.

And here they are now, everything seeming like it was light years away from the little rock on which they were sitting. Emma swallows hard, her jaw set, not knowing whether to offer words of comfort, or goodbye, or kiss him and pretend nothing would ever get in their way again.

She chose to reach out for his hand. “Hurry back,” she whispered, lifting it up and kissing it.

Killian says nothing, leaning forward to press his lips against her briefly. He pulls back, with sorrow in his eyes, squeezes her hands, then jumps as quick as a tree frog into the water.

She can hear music, a Christmas carol, from the castle playing all the way from here, but Emma chooses to stay and gaze at the spot where he had just vanished. The night is steadily growing colder and the pastel colours on the horizon are slowly disappearing, and soon Emma will sit in complete darkness, the sea rushing around her as the Christmas music plays like a lullaby lulling her love to sleep.


	6. speak now

_“i’ll meet you when you’re out of the church at the back door”_

***

Two centuries years of pillaging, plundering and pirating the lands, fighting sea creatures and irritable four hundred year old teenagers could not have prepared him for this day in which he has to stop a wedding between Snow White’s daughter and a bloody flying monkey.

He found out Walsh’s secret by accident, prowling the streets of New York when he’d seen him sneaking around the back of an ally. The mere position as Swan’s fiancé had been enough to annoy Killian to the ends of the earth, so naturally, he followed the demon into his hiding place, in which he’d witnessed quite possibly the most horrendous human/creature transfiguration in his life.

He tried to get a hold of Emma in the days after, but it was clear she was avoiding him. He doesn’t blame her. A devilishly handsome pirate with wild claims of fairy tales and destiny would probably cause more than a few arguments in the household, but Killian was desperate. Walsh’s transformation had turned the situation even more dire than he could’ve imagined. Saving Emma was at the top of his list right now, and if it came down to crashing her marital bond to a blond ape, so be it.

Emma hasn’t handed him over to the police yet, so he takes it as a good sign. Perhaps her memories are coming back. Perhaps...perhaps the kiss actually worked.

He shakes away the thought. It won’t, he admits to himself bitterly. No matter how much he tries to hide himself behind his curtain of arrogance and cocky shadow, nothing will ever change the fact that he will never be good enough for someone as brave and strong and beautiful-

The clock turns to the 11th hour.

-as Emma.

Killian straightens his hook and marches down the street. There was a very kind, comforting and slightly too trustful old lady named Iris (New York seemed to be full of them) that had lent her extra bed to Killian for the past several nights. He’d admitted heartfully how he’s journeyed all the way from a distant land trying to stop the wedding between the _gorgeous_ love of his life and the man that had _swept_ her from under his nose with _lies_ and _deceit_ and-

That had been enough. She’d started crying, and leaving Killian feeling only slightly guilty (hey, it wasn’t an _entire_ fib), she’d marched him to the bedroom and pelted him with extra clothes, toiletries, even showed him how to use the shower-thing (she’d brushed off his spotty cluelessness). There was even a big winter coat that she brought him, something of her son’s who had died a year ago due to cancer. She’d nostalgically told him how he had also crashed the wedding of his ex-girlfriend and eloped, eventually having three kids and a very happy life. She wished the same for Killian, who had given her a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

Damn. This land was really something.

That morning he woke up, gave Iris a hug (he’d grown fond of the old woman, and grown to respect them quite a bit in his pirating years. They were a force to be reckoned with) and hurried through the snow to the church, which thankfully wasn’t very far from Iris’s home. People in winter coats that hid their fancy outfits stepped out of limos and hurried inside, shoes glinting and hairstyles carefully tucked under hoods (or not, for those who were brave enough). Killian tries to look as normal as a person in a leather jacket with a hook for a left hand hand could seem as he strolls through the crowd, glancing subtly at the door where a man was collecting the invitations.

Two options forms in his head, three if he’s up for thievery: one, he could stroll through the door as if he was part of one of the families. Two, he could threaten/try to pity up the Invitation Man. Three, he could swipe one of the invitation from someone’s head, but he doubted he would go unnoticed for any of them in this situation.

He sighs and decided to go for one. He lets the last of the families chatter themselves up to the front, show their card, before hurrying to join them. He offers a smile at the man. “I’m-I’m with them,” he says pointing, hoping he looks dashing enough to be excused.

The man raised an eyebrow, reaching out an arm to block his path. “Really?”

Killian sighs and faces him. “Look, mate-” He stops and rubs the back of his neck. “I really need to stop this wedding. I can’t let the bride marry him, she doesn’t know the danger she’s getting into-”

“Ah, you’re the crasher.” The man draws his hand back. “Go on. Don’t cause too much of a disturbance.”

Killian gives a thanks of amazement as he walks in, rushing sideways to avoid a flurry of bridesmaids that run past him to the foyer he’d just left. Emma’s in there somewhere, and Killian feels like causing a scene would be much more effective than bothering to look for her in one of the rooms.

He sits at the back pew, beside two boys playing a sort of game on a square contraption. He looks, curious, before they catch sight of him and draw back with wide eyes. He offers a salute, and looks forward, serious. Eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize.

The organ starts playing before he knows it, and he finds himself letting out more shaky breaths than he’d planned. His right palm curls into a fist and releases continuously as the ceremony begins. The groomsmen, bridesmaids, Henry as the ringbearer, and flower girl all enter in an annoyingly slow pace, causing Killian to close his eyes and resist the urge to stand up and yell at them to hurry up, there was an entire town in Maine that was in danger. He shook his head and decided to save the ultimate disturbance for later.

And then she walks in. In white, a beautiful train and flowers in her hair, she’s stunning and Killian sucks in a breath as he watches her glide across the aisle, glowing like an angel.

His teeth grit. Walsh didn’t deserve any of this.

The minister starts reciting from his book and Killian prepares himself, hand and hook steeled against his legs for his eventual call-

“ _Speak now or forever hold your peace_.”

His head snaps up. Letting out a deep breath, he stands, amid to gasps and looks of horror in his direction. A group of females nearby burst into giggles, whispering to each other, but Killian is only focused on Emma, whose ghastly expression turns into one of anger as recognition sinks in.

“Emma,” he begins, and his voice is a lot more softer than he had expected it to be. “Emma Swan.” His eyes flicker to Henry, who keeps looking between Killian and his mother, mouth open. “I know-” he sighs. “I know you believe that you’ve been abandoned and have spent your whole life thinking your parents have never cared about you, that every waking moment has been filled with the one question of why they chose to leave you and never came looking for you. I know that you believe that this man-” he points at Walsh, whose staring daggers at him. “Is someone to trust, love and put your faith into, but I swear that that is not the case. I knew you, Emma Swan, before you were thrust into this life. You found your parents. You found a home, a family, an even happier life. And I can help you find them again. But they are in great danger.”

Comical gasps flutter about the room again, and Emma’s eyebrows draw in.

“Great danger from a woman that _he_ happens to be working for.” Another point at Walsh, another round of gasps. “You were so happy, Emma. You had Henry and parents and a place in their _kingdom_. Let me bring you to them. Let me help you remember and save them. For if we wait, it may already be too late.”

The silence is heavy and thick. People exchange looks of incredulity, and Killian waits, taking in Emma’s reaction. She appears to be thinking, and before he can say anything Walsh steps forward. Killian curses.

“I have no idea who you are,” he says angrily. “But you have the _audacity_ to come in and crash my wedding, the happiest day of my life-”

“Walsh,” Emma stops him, and Killian nearly lets out a whoop of relief. “Is what he said true? Who are you working for?”

Walsh looks at her with an open mouth. “No-no one! He’s lying! Everything he says is untrue!”

But Emma’s expression hardens and Killian knows her superpower is being put to use.

Walsh is lying. And she can clearly see it.

“Where is my family?” She says, stepping closer to him. He backs up, holding his arms out to steady her.

“Emma-”

“What do you know?”

“Emma, please.”

“ _Answer me_.”

“I will, godammit!” Walsh yells, and suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he isn’t Walsh anymore but a smaller, ghastlier creature, winged and purple, with the body of a monkey and canine-like tooth.

Emma gasps and stumbles back as the creature lets out a screech, clearly dismayed. The crowds in the church scream and run, stumbling over each other in their haste to get to the entrance. Only Emma and Henry remain, Henry dropping the pillow and rushing over to his mother. Killian runs to them as well as Walsh hisses and steps toward the pair.

He steps in front of them as the creature spreads its wings, teeth glinting in the church light. Behind him, Emma grabs a candlestick.

“That’s not going to work that well!” He calls.

“It’s sharp!” She answers and flings it toward Walsh, who dodges it easily. He screeches again and flies toward Emma, who screams and throws Henry aside.

“Mom!” He yells and Killian runs toward them, taking a leap of faith and jumping on top of the monkey. He manages to drag its furry body away from Emma, who looks terrified, before it struggles free, gives one last scream, and flies off through the entrance of the church.

The three are panting as the doors swing shut. Killian pulls Emma up. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, and her expression is pained. Killian’s heart breaks, remembering how she had to leave Neal behind. How long will the world have to keep tearing her heart before she finds peace in this desolate life? He hates it, and wants nothing more to fix the damage. But he knows it’s too late.

“You weren’t lying, were you?” Emma asks.

There is a pause.

“Where do we need to go?”

Killian grimaces. “Maine, I believe. A town called Storybrooke.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the vial. “This’ll help you remember.”

“How do you know?” Henry asks. “Who even are you?”

“Killian Jones. Or Hook, whichever you want,” he said, waving the lovely piece of hardware strapped to his left hand. “And I can’t force you to take it. But trust your gut, Swan. It will tell you what to do.”

Emma glances at her son. “Henry always says that,” she says fondly. Henry smiles at her, still wary.

“Listen to your boy,” Killian says. “Remember who you are.”

It seems like an eternity before Emma finally takes the vial and drinks. Her mouth parts and her eyes clear, as if she’s been awakened from a deep slumber after many years.

She looks at him, recognition flooding her gaze. “Hook.”

He smiles. “Emma.”

She nods. “Let me get out of this dress. And we need to pack, ” she adds, crossing her arms. “We’re heading to Maine.”


	7. you are in love

“ _one step, not much, but it says enough”_

***

“Honestly, it’s funny how much the earth wants to destroy Bing Crosby’s dreams,” Emma remarks with a smile, looking up at the Christmas tree in front of them. “Every year, it hits back, like _nope, not happening_. I feel sorry for the man.”

Killian cracks a grin, looking at her. Indeed, the pavilion they were standing on is void of any white, cold substance that usually blessed the ground by this time of year. That isn’t to say it isn’t cold though - it’s chilly enough that they’d both bundled themselves up in black coats and boots, protection against the frigid air as they travelled to the lighted area outside Regina’s house. She isn’t there right now - off with Robin on some grand journey in Europe. But they always come here to gaze at the giant tree she puts up every December; real pine, as any sophisticated member of society would buy, with shiny metal decorations and an angel statue at the top offering a star to the heavens. The tree’s on one side, looming over a pavilion with a round stone pathway with a hole in the middle that encased a fountain. A stone Aphrodite sitting on a seashell gazes at them, her hands cupped around another smaller seashell that pours a stream of water during warmer weather.

These days it’s cold, silent and unattended. The lack of water or leaves floating inside it makes it seem a little eerie to look at, but the bright lighting and twinkling fairy lights draped on the evergreen bushes surrounding it does more than enough to liven up the atmosphere.

It really is a beautiful place, especially in the winter when it’s socially acceptable to dress up the tree. Particularly during the night, when the lights are on and everything seems like a fairy tale are when he loves to bring Emma here. There’s never a moment when she doesn’t smile or laugh, and even when she drops them she takes on a thoughtful expression that seems to analyze and paint everything around her in a serene colour, and when she looks away the colours trail after her, desperate to be more vibrant in her gaze.

It’s crazy how simple and wild their lives - _life_ \- can be, after all the terror they’d experienced. There’s everything normal - coffee during breakfast, kisses on sidewalks, burnt toast in the morning, slow dances to no music but the beat of their hearts and occasional laughter at a joke the other had cracked - but underneath it all is a berserk kind of passion that lingers on every piece of skin they bare to each other; untamed yet so, so _simple_. It’s uncomplicated and complicated - two pieces of his life that he never once thought would fit so naturally together and coexist in such blissful harmony.

She makes it work, he’s realized so many times. She, the great light that guides him through the dim tunnels of his darkest days, the solace that manages to aid him in destroying his emotional walls, is more than just the societal label she wields. After all these years he can never place together the right words to describe the rushing effect she has on him. It’s impossible to specifically describe the tingles that surge up his spine when her lips graze his neck, or the feeling of utter elation that sweeps over him whenever she laughs in joy. It’s impossible to describe the comfort that she exerts and shares with him, or how she holds his hand and laces their fingers in a way that makes him never want to let go.

In short, Killian Jones has given up on trying to explain how utterly and wretchedly he is in love with Emma Swan.

He looks at her now, hair in a high ponytail, brushing away a few strands grazing her face. A woman who had willingly given her heart to him, who had decided against running and leaving behind things she was nervous about sharing her soul with. A woman who’s so afraid of losing him, a sad excuse for a human being still, that she travelled to the land of the dead of all places in order to bring him, a sad excuse for a human being still, back.

“I can’t believe we’ve reached a point where I can actually _understand_ what you’re talking about,” Killian remarks.

“I think it’s just the playlist my mom keeps putting on,” Emma says, grinning. “God, you must be overwhelmed but all the jingling bells and shiny noses and white Christmases.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Killian says. “Although I must say, I’ve travelled in a one-horse open sleigh quite a few times in my life and I’d rather not experience the horror again in a song _promoting_ the damn thing.”

Emma laughs. “Why, were they all untamed?”

“Try-well, yes, but-” he stops because Emma’s laughing again, and he wants to savour the sound before continuing, “it’s _bumpy_ , Swan, have some sympathy.”

“After all these years of being able to traverse through rough Neverland seas and monsters, I can’t believe you’re complaining about a one-horse open sleigh.”

“I’m a man of comfort, ‘tis all.”

Emma gives him a flat look and he laughs.

Emma looks at the tree again. “You know, I hated Christmas when I was a kid.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Emma gives him another look and continues. “Yeah, I guess you’d understand. Just the whole idea of...family and happiness and sharing love was so out of reach for me at that time. I couldn’t image…” She looks at him. “Ever feeling that way, with anyone. I mean, with Neal, I guess I kind of did, but…” Her gaze softens. “I don’t even think we spent a Christmas together.” Her face is thoughtful, and he’s unable to look away. “But I have a family now. People I love. I used to stand in front of these trees, without anyone by my side.” She looks at him, smiling. “I do now. And I couldn’t be happier.”

She wasn’t always this sentimental with him. One thing Killian’s noticed while slowly breaking down Emma Swan’s walls is the more she gives herself to others, the more she shows it. The more loving words she utters; words of strength and bondage and joy. It’s comforting, knowing he’s part of the reason she chose to unleash this rare side of her. Especially since she played the sole role in doing it for him.

He decides now is the time.

“Well, I guess this is a good time to do this,” he says.

“Do what?” Emma asks, looking back at him. “Oh, my god.”

He thinks, as he kneels down, how afterward they’ll talk about this. How nervous he had been when arriving at the Charmings’ apartment, even though Henry had been with him the entire way, offering reassurance and words of encouragement. How Mary Margaret had squealed in delight and David couldn’t help flashing a wide grin. How he had, in fact personally gone with Killian to go shopping for the ring in the city, finally settling on a small opal on a gold band, simple yet lovely.

“Emma Swan,” Killian said, “I know you hate overly, sickeningly sweet things but because I’m so pathetically in love with you, I’m going to make this as cheesy as possible.”

Emma is still stunned but she’s slowly smiling and gives a laugh at his declaration, and he finds the courage to continue. “Miss Emma Swan, soon to be Mrs, of course, the great moon of my skies, princess of Misthaven, my solace in this treacherous journey called life, I could not _bare_ to imagine waking up another day and having to call you anything other than my lovely wedded wife. Oh, wow, that rhymed.”

“ _Killian_.”

He grins. “Alright, alright.” He clears his throat. “Emma Swan, you are a princess, I am a pirate, we can sail the seven seas-” he pauses. “That’s how the song goes, right?”

“I swear-”

“Now, hold on,” Killian says, but she’s not irritated or exasperated or anything. In fact, she’s grinning wide and holding her hands over her mouth, “I know it’s only been two years after everything we’ve done, and I understand that you - _we_ \- still may need time to heal. But I’d rather do that with you by my side, every step of the way. So, Emma Swan,” his voice softens. “Will you marry me?”

She places her hands back in her pockets, not being able to suppress her grin. “I hate you. A lot.”

He grins. “All part of the package, darling.”

“And _yes_ ,” she smiles gently. “I’ll marry you.”

The ring finds its way to her finger, and as they kiss under the cloudless sky and fairy lights, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, if all the hardships they’d faced had been hurdles and stepping stools needed to reach this happy ending, they were all worth it.

***

_“you are in love, true love"_


End file.
